


'Til we're old and stinky

by Myrmekitic



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU, Other, Science Bros, Slice of Life, and make bacon together, who are also in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 06:41:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11248410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myrmekitic/pseuds/Myrmekitic
Summary: Pidge never actually cooks, and for good reason, the best food that they make is sandwiches. Hunk is understandably worried about a fire in the kitchen when he comes home to the smell of cooking bacon. Apparently, some things are harder to mess up than others.





	'Til we're old and stinky

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh, this is the first thing that I've actually finished writing for fandom since my Homestuck days, and it kinda figures that it's Hidge. I hope that you enjoy my work!

The apartment smelled delicious. Even before he got his keys in the lock, Hunk’s mouth was watering at the scent of bacon. Which was weird. Not that his mouth was watering, Hunk liked bacon as much as any other meat-eating person. The salty, fatty, porky scent of its cooking made him think of lazy Sunday mornings when he’d sat at the counter counter, his legs swinging far above the tile while his mom fried spam in leftover bacon grease for breakfast, and the salt-scented breeze rolled in through the open windows. It was why his apartment smelled like bacon when he wasn’t home that was weird.

Pidge was many things. A great thinker, a fantastic scientist and mathematician, snarky, obnoxious, gorgeous, the love of his life. But they couldn’t cook for crap. One time they had literally set the toaster on fire trying to make some sideways grilled cheese thing they had seen on the internet, then shrugged and claimed that it had been ‘for science’. 

There were definitely some things that they made that were pretty great, their macarons had evolved into something that could be an exemplar on a cooking show, with the humidity and temperature formulas that Pidge had worked out on paper, and hung on the fridge with neodymium magnets. When it came to anything other than scientific precision in the kitchen, though, Pidge tended to fall flat. Hence Hunk’s surprise at the bacon-smell.

“Hello?” he called as he let himself into the apartment, and locked the door behind himself. “Pidge? You home?”

“In the kitchen! How was work?” Okay. So at least Pidge wasn’t dead, and wasn’t screaming. In fact, they sounded remarkably calm. Hunk had been ready to rush to the rescue, but since the situation seemed contained, he took the time to toe off his shoes and hang up his jacket.

“Oh, you know. Work. Alex was harping on me for the schematics that I sent him last week. He claimed that he never got the email, which is garbage, because he thanked me for it last week. Half an hour after I sent it. He _laughed_ at my joke, and-- Piiiidge? What’re you doing?”

Pidge looked up from where they stood at the ready by the stove. They were wearing their Wonder Woman snuggie, his thick winter gloves, and the safety goggles from their freshman gen chem class over their glasses while wielding the longest tongs in the kitchen and hiding behind the Captain America shield that Matt had given them for their birthday a few years ago. They looked ridiculous.

“Uh, making bacon.” The look that they gave him was the one they always did when he asked what they thought was a stupid question. It never failed to make Hunk’s chest feel tight and hot, and he felt as though he could burst from the pressure of the sheer joy they brought to his life. He watched as they gingerly moved the bacon in the pan around. Pidge raised the shield whenever there was a pop or a hiss. It took them some finagling and false starts to pick up a raw slice.

“I put that together. What’s with the--” 

He didn’t get to finish his thought, because Pidge gave a hearty “FIRE IN THE HOLE!” before they dropped the fresh piece of bacon into the pan from behind the safety of their aluminum shield. Once the bacon was down, they ducked behind it completely, hunching into the smallest turtley target that they could manage. Hunk wasn’t quite sure whether to laugh or smack himself in the face with both of his hands. He settled on crossing his arms and shaking his head at the ceiling. His partner in crime (and life) was absolutely nuts.

Which, really, just meant that they were a good match.

“Get on my level.” Pidge’s grin was like staring into the sun. Glorious, hypnotic, blinding, and he’d beg for it again, sell everything he had to his name to see them smile just one more time.

He kissed the top of their head as he passed by on his way to the bedroom. He had his own snuggie somewhere, courtesy of Lance, but he had no idea where it had gotten to. It didn’t really fit him right, anyway, especially in the arms, so he made do with an old sweatshirt and a pair of welding goggles that he’d been meaning to put back with his tools. Hunk flipped his hood up, and pulled the drawstring tight so only his eyes and nose poked out before he headed back to the kitchen, where Pidge was still tending to the bacon.

“Orders, sir?” Hunk asked. He wore a smile under his hood. Pidge looked up at him, and a matching smile split their face.

“I’ve got this front covered, soldier, I want you on prep.”

“Sir, yes sir!” He saluted, though he was pretty sure it was with his wrong hand. Was there a right hand for saluting?

“We need avocado and tomato for sandwiches. Are your orders understood?”

Hunk couldn’t hold in his laughter any longer, and Pidge must have taken that as a ‘yes’ because they saluted him, and turned their eyes back to the stove. He dug an avocado out of the fridge, and plucked an heirloom tomato from the bowl he’d left them in on the counter after they’d gotten back from the farmers market that weekend. They had been tempting, even if they were kind of expensive, the last tomatoes of the season, and the one Hunk had grabbed still smelled like summer and sunshine when he put it to his exposed nose and gave it a sniff before washing it off and slicing it up.

Pidge was picky. They were particular with what they liked, and Hunk had known them long enough that he knew to make fairly thin slices of tomato for them, while he cut thicker ones for himself. He liked a little more acid to cut through the fat of the bacon; they liked a little less with a little more avocado. Different strokes.

“So what made you decide to start cooking without me?” Pidge wasn’t always _complete_ disaster in the kitchen, but often it was a near thing. There was a reason why Hunk did most of the cooking.

“I’m hungry. And you were probably going to make something involved, and I didn’t want to wait.”

“You forgot to eat lunch, didn’t you?”

“No!” They were indignant. They definitely forgot to eat lunch. At least he’d sent them to school that morning with a bagel.

“Uh huh. You got so busy with your research that you forgot to eat before you had to teach, didn’t you?”

“Shut up.” Pidge clicked their tongs at him as he settled against the counter to watch them cook. Like a crab. Like a tiny, hangry crab. The thought of crab Pidge made him happy, though it might not be the most prudent time to share that particular gem. Because hoo, boy, did Pidge get hangry after a while, not that they noticed it until it was pointed out to them.

“What kind of bread do you want?” Hunk asked, instead of commenting on Pidge’s eating habits any more. “I think we still have some of the stuff we got last time we went to Wegmans.”

“Nope. I ate it when I got home yesterday. I think we’re down to your weird multigrain bread.”

“Hey, my bread is healthy, and it has texture. Just because we don’t all want to eat Wonder bread...”

“Ew!” Pidge laughed, and made a face. Hunk loved their laugh, he’d give anything to hear Pidge laugh like that every day of the rest of their lives. “Wonder bread is gross, it tastes like chemicals. Just because I like consistency in the texture of my peanut butter sandwiches doesn’t mean that I’m the sort of heathen who likes _Wonder bread_.”

“You are definitely the sort of heathen who likes Wonder bread. Your mom showed me pictures.”

Pidge threw one of their gloves at him, and blew a raspberry in his direction. “Just toast your weird healthy bread, asshole, I’m almost done with this.”

“Man, I’ve got my own knight in shining armor. And they cook bacon for me.” Hunk pretended to swoon, and went about getting together the rest of the sandwich ingredients while Pidge finished up at the stove, and took the last of the bacon out of the pan. They must have deemed the danger to have passed fully enough to begin removing their safetywear, starting with the goggles that they shoved up onto the top of their head without even bothering to set down their shield. 

There was a red, indented ring on Pidge’s face where the goggles had sat too tight against their skin. It reminded him of the similar mark that had lingered on their face the first time that Hunk had met them, arguing with a professor about the efficacy of the calculations on one of their labs. It might not have been love at first sight, but there had definitely been some fascination with this tiny, ridiculous person arguing over one point on a lab as a freshman.

“So, what’s with the whole. Y’know. Thing?” Hunk waved his hands towards Pidge. He took this as his cue to take off his welding goggles and his hoodie, since, really, it was too warm in their apartment for it, and he’d only put it on to make Pidge laugh. They had to look down at themself to figure out what he was talking about.

“Oh! Oh, I started making dinner, and tank tops, and bacon splatters when it’s hot. Basic principles of heating water rapidly expanding.” Pidge shrugged out of their snuggie. There were a couple more red marks, these ones angrier, from the hot bacon grease marring their pale chest. Hunk dropped his head to kiss them.

They made their sandwiches together, side by side, handing ingredients back and forth. Pidge hummed quietly while they worked. They were still wearing their goggles on top of their head, pushing their hair every which way, though the rest of their makeshift armor and the shield that they’d been wielding had been set aside. They still looked ridiculous, but in a good way. In a Pidge way. In a way that made him want to dance them around the kitchen.

“I love you,” he blurted when their arm bumped against his when they went for another slice of bread.

“I know.” What a shit.

“If you think you can win me over with Star Wars, you’re absolutely right.” Hunk waited until Pidge had finished putting their sandwich together before he tugged them into his arms. There was no music besides Pidge’s laughter, but it hardly mattered when they were together like this, Hunk leading Pidge around the kitchen in a silly dance that neither of them really knew the moves to.

“Dude, I could win you over with a torn apart roomba.” Pidge’s eyes were bright. They swayed up onto their tiptoes to kiss him. Their lips were a little chapped from their bike ride home, and they were just a little sweaty from the dancing and the heat of the stove. It was the best kiss ever. Every kiss with Pidge was the best kiss ever. Hunk ducked down to press their foreheads together.

“You could definitely win me over with a torn-apart roomba. You could win me over with moldy sandwich meat if you put effort into it.”

“Sounds kinky.”

“Gross, Pidge.” It was Hunk who was laughing, now, even though his cheeks felt flushed. He was laughing so hard that he stopped dancing entirely and tears gathered i the corners of his eyes.

“I’m gross. You love me for it.” Pidge’s hair had flopped into their face. Hunk tucked it back into place.

“I do.”

“I love that you love that I’m gross.” 

Together, they turned back to the neglected sandwiches, and grabbed their plates to bring over to the table.

“I’d love you even if you were a stinky old man,” Pidge said, and took Hunk’s hand so that they could swing their twined hands between them.

“Good, because I’m going to be a stinky old man someday.”

“Good. I look forward to seeing it, and being stinky and old with you.” 

Pidge didn’t get their hand back until well into the evening, but they didn’t protest it. Too much.


End file.
